


Fancy Footwork

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, just a touch of danger, typical day for these guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 11:53:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6656773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Napoleon and Illya encounter another THRUSH trap during the course of a mission.  In other words, condition normal...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fancy Footwork

**Author's Note:**

> This was largely inspired by an infamous trap from the Ancient Ruins dungeon in The Legend of Zelda: Oracle of Seasons.

Napoleon lead the way through the rows of shelves of the THRUSH storage facility. Illya followed behind him, keeping his eyes open for what they were after—a block of plutonium locked in a green strongbox that had been lined with lead in the interior to minimize the radioactivity. Illya was keeping an eye out for it as they passed the numerous shelves.

It was Napoleon who spotted it, however; they were passing a door that lead to another part of the storage facility when the American suddenly got the inkling to look behind the door. A narrow room full of crates piled in the back of it housed the strongbox on one of them.

“Is that it?” Illya asked, quietly.

“I think so,” Napoleon replied. He frowned. “But do you get the feeling that we found this way too easily?”

Illya’s expression darkened.

“You think it is a trap?” he asked.

“I _know_ it has to be a trap,” Napoleon said. “They wouldn’t keep their valuable, stolen prize out in the open like this without securing it in some way.”

Illya dug through his pockets for a granola bar he had been carrying with him; he gently tossed the granola bar onto the floor in front of them. In an instant, a large spike emerged from the floor, impaling the granola bar.

“ _Da_ , that is certainly a trap,” Illya said, with a surprising level of calmness. “I am certain that is not the only one, either.”

The agents spent the next several minutes throwing whatever they could find—coins, pebbles, even things from the shelves in the other room—across the floor of the trap-laden room. More and more spikes emerged from the floor, and after it was all over, a convoluted path to the strongbox remained on the floor, littered with the things the agents had thrown there without activating anything.

With a sigh, Napoleon checked his watch as he maneuvered his way around the spikes.

“That endeavor, while being completely necessary, used up a lot of our valuable time,” he said, still frowning. “We’ve got only five minutes before the guard changes outside—and the new guards will notice that we tranquilized the previous shift, and they’ll cut off any hope we have of escape.”

“We have pulled off narrower escapes in the past,” Illya said, following behind his partner. “Of course, I do not like to make a habit of it.”

Napoleon nodded in agreement and, after testing the boxes and crates for more traps and finding none, he picked up the green strongbox. A loud rattling of gears immediately followed this; the two agents gave a start, and then both froze, exchanging glances as the door they had entered through shut and locked itself with a click.

“I should’ve known there would’ve been a counterweight mechanism—” Napoleon began, but he was cut off as the rattling of gears was now replaced by the sound of loud grating.

“Napoleon…!” Illya exclaimed, going pale. “The walls are closing in!”

The large walls were, indeed, moving towards each other; the spikes were retracting into the floor to allow them to do so. And Napoleon didn’t stop to gawk; grabbing the strongbox with one hand and Illya’s hand with the other, he led the Russian back towards the locked door, the both of them now clearing the lowering spikes by jumping over them. The walls continued to close in; they would soon have no room left to move.

But Illya had already been using his free hand to remove one of his explosive buttons and had hurled it at the lock; the door was blown open, and the Russian yelped as his partner suddenly pulled him out in front and gave him a shove, sending him through the doorway first.

“Napoleon!” he exclaimed again, his eyes widening in horror.

But Napoleon had already launched into a flying tackle through the sliver of doorway still accessible between the closing walls, twisting his body in midair to allow his broad shoulders to fit through the narrow opening.

He had been almost all the way through when the walls began to trap his feet. A look of panic crossed his face as he abruptly fell flat on his face, but Illya had grabbed his arms and had pulled with all of his strength. Napoleon shot out of his shoes and looked back in time to see them get flattened as the walls fully closed.

“You were right, Illya,” he said, after he had managed to recover from his close call. “We’ve had narrower escapes. And that one was about as narrow as they get.”

“And as I said, we should not make a habit of it,” Illya sighed. “And we have one minute left before the changing of the THRUSH guard; we shall have to make another narrow escape.”

“Compared to that trap, this will feel like nothing,” Napoleon said, still clutching the strongbox as they ran for the nearest window.

Illya quietly agreed as they darted off into the night, just moments before the new shift of THRUSH guards arrived on the scene. They didn’t dare to relax until they had made it to their car and Illya had them on the road.

“We shall need to deliver that strongbox to Section VIII,” Illya said. “They will be able to deal with that plutonium. And after that, I shall take you shopping for some new shoes.”

Napoleon did manage a smirk at that, happy that his biggest problem now was convincing Waverly that the new footwear should be included on the expense account.

“Home, James,” he teased, leaning back and waiting for the last of the adrenaline to wear off

Illya shook his head in amusement, but kept on driving.


End file.
